


Shopping For One

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-21
Updated: 2006-03-21
Packaged: 2019-02-02 15:48:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12729537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Daniel goes grocery shopping and runs into Jack.





	Shopping For One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

'Mmm, let's see. Ground Round, Ground Chuck, oh here we go . . . Ground Sirloin.' Daniel tossed a package into his buggy and pushed it further down the meat counter. 'Picnic hams, nope. Chicken, definitely. Whole birds, pass. I'll take a pack of precut, some boneless, skinless breasts, and some thighs.' He hefted a pack of ground turkey, eyeing the sell-by date of the lump of moist pink squiggles under the protective wrap. 

He'd done a lot of adjusting since returning from Abydos two months earlier. Getting used to modern supermarkets again had ranked right up there with driving in the snow and sleeping alone. The harsh lighting and tinned music warred with his memories of open-air stalls and earthenware pots. The sterile air conditioning and the smell of not-so-fresh seafood made him ache for the familiar scents of livestock, dust, and fried foods. The murmuring of his fellow shoppers contrasted all too sharply with the memory of loud laughter, shouted greetings, and friendly gossip of those he'd been forced to leave behind. 

"Excuse me," a voice at his elbow startled him. Looking around, he saw a young woman trying to reach around him for a pack of ground turkey. 

"Excuse me," he replied automatically, backing himself and his buggy out of the way. 

"Can you believe the price?" she groused in a good-natured tone. "Albertson's has a better price but it's too far out of my way after work." She balanced the pack on top of her bulging buggy. She flashed a smile at the handsome man standing awkwardly to one side. "Shopping for groceries is such a pain. Wish I could order it over the internet." The shiny plastic wrap attracted the attention of the chubby cheeked toddler sitting in the front of the buggy. Two bright green eyes zeroed in on the pack. Two plump pink hands reached out. The little girl twisted around in the wire seat to get at it. Her mother absently slapped the grasping fingers before turning back to the meat display. She picked out another pack and managed to tuck it in behind a small bag of cat food. Taking a bottle of shampoo out of the toddler's hand, she gave her a ring of plastic keys. The grinning toddler immediately shoved the ring into her mouth, chewing happily. Smiling at her drooling daughter, the woman pushed the buggy down the isle. Daniel looked down at the plastic wrapped bird flesh in his hand. He put it back. 

With a weary sigh, he gave the buggy a shove. He didn't spare a glance for the other shoppers. It was late and he was tired. All he wanted to do was grab a few essentials and go back to his apartment. Rubber wheels squeaked as he rolled past gleaming shelves lined with cans, their brightly colored labels promising quick and nutritious meals with the mere application of a can opener. No taste buds required. He picked up a few. Being off-world frequently made certain compromises necessary. If it couldn't be frozen or preserved on a shelf, it either had to be eaten immediately or thrown out after the next unexpected emergency required him to spend two weeks straight on base. Of course, if they found Shau're and Skarra soon . . . 

He snagged a bag of coarse brown bread and tossed it into his buggy. He avoided the come-hither smile of the bleached blonde eyeing his 'bachelor' purchases and made his way to the produce department. Terraces of green and yellow vegetables alternated with pits filled to overflowing with bright red tomatoes, ghostly pale mushrooms, and deep orange carrots. From a thin pipe mounted over the wall display, a light mist rained down, sending faint rainbows arching over leafy green bundles. Tables were stacked with bags of potatoes, lemons, and oranges. He spent time over the fresh produce, sniffing and testing the weight of the offerings before choosing. 

He loved to cook. One of his foster mothers had insisted all the children in her care learned to cook. A survival skill, she called it. He had taken to the kitchen like a duck to water. The skill had served him well over the years. As a struggling undergraduate, he'd been able to whip up something far better than what the cafeteria was serving at a fraction of the cost and without leaving his rooms. As a doctoral student, he'd used cooking as a break from his studies. Focusing on a new recipe let his mind rest from the myriad of languages, and histories he was busy absorbing. As an archaeologist, it helped to be able to sort through the local foods, know how to work with the available spices either on a dig or in his cramped apartment near the campus. As a single man, he'd surprised dates with a special meal. As a husband, he'd often shocked and delighted his wife with a bubbling pot of stew after a busy day. 

Resisting the urge to ram the buggy into a wall, he threaded his way around a cardboard display of raisins and several other shoppers. Time to check out. 

"Fancy meeting you here," a familiar voice caught him by surprise. He jerked around. Jack was leaning on the handle of a buggy a few feet away. His team leader grinned at his reaction. Daniel tried to smile back. 

"Needed to pick up a few things before heading home." 

"Likewise." Jack gestured at the boxes and cans in his buggy. Daniel quirked an eyebrow over the macaroni and cheese and six pack of beer. 

"That's your idea of dinner?" he asked before he could stop himself. It was none of his business what Jack ate off duty. 

"Not all of us are blessed with gourmet tastes." 

"I didn't mean, um. . . I . . ." He cringed in embarrassment. He was still getting used to dealing with his teammates off-duty. On base, the work took precedence. There were always artifacts from the last mission to catalogue and details for the next mission to finalize. Small talk was rarely needed beyond asking if the coffee was fresh. To be honest, he avoided any discussions that might veer into personal areas. The gaping holes in his life were too raw to hold up for casual conversation. 

"Don't sweat it." Jack shrugged. "Looks like you're done." 

"Yeah. I was about to check out." 

"Don't let me stop you." 

"Oh. Okay." Daniel pushed his buggy forward a few steps. Jack didn't move. "See you tomorrow." 

"Bright and early." 

"Bye, Jack." 

"Bye, Daniel." 

He moved to the register where an elderly couple waited patiently as the gum-smacking cashier slowly scanned can after can of dog food. Daniel felt his gaze drawn back to the man standing by a bin of apples. He watched Jack pick up one after another checking them for bruises before dropping three into a plastic bag. 

The lean, wiry frame seemed deflated somehow. The broad shoulders slumped over the task of choosing ripe fruit. At the debriefing earlier, he'd noted the shadows in those brown eyes, the lines at the corner of his mouth. It had been a hard mission. They'd returned empty-handed. No new technology, no miracle cures, no missing family members. At the time, he hadn't thought about how tired Jack looked. Heaven knew they had reason to be. He had barely made it back to his office before the adrenaline rush and the painful hope in his soul had faded, leaving him exhausted and hungry. 

A thought skittered through his mind. Maybe he wasn't the only one heading to a place that shouldn't be empty, to eat a meal that ought to be shared. Following an impulse, he left his buggy in line and walked back to Jack. "Hey." 

"Hey," Jack turned to look at him, the plastic bag of fruit hanging from one hand. "Thought you were leaving." 

"Yeah. I was waiting and I thought," he hesitated, suddenly unsure of the wisdom of his plan. What if he was wrong? Maybe Jack just wanted to go home and unwind by himself. He might not welcome the invitation. He might see it as a desperate attempt to keep himself from being lonely, or as a means to curry favor. From what he knew of Jack, the man didn't have a lot of patience for those who annoyed him. He couldn't afford to tick off his team leader. Daniel needed to stay on his good side if he was to remain on SG-1 to search for his wife. 

"You thought?" Jack prompted, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. 

"Well, you know, since . . ." He stopped and took a deep breath. He really didn't want to spend another meal staring at a vacant chair across the table. "Um, I thought you might like some company for dinner. I mean, if you haven't eaten yet. I was going to cook." 

"Are you inviting me over for dinner?" 

"Um, yes, if you want to come." 

"Hell, yes. I'm sick to death of eating my own cooking." 

"You actually cook?" Daniel closed his eyes. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. The first hectic weeks following his return to earth, Jack had been kind enough to let him stay at his house until he could arrange for a place of his own. Most of their meals had been eaten on base or ordered in. With the exception of one breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon, he couldn't remember a single time Jack had cooked. 

"I boil the water. I open the box. That's cooking." 

"Sounds more like MREs to me." 

"Tastes a lot like it too." 

"That's bad." 

"You're telling me. I actually look forward to eating at the cafeteria on base." 

"Then I suppose I should consider it my duty to take you home and feed you." 

"So I'm your good deed for the day?" Jack cocked an eyebrow. "I didn't realize I was such a charity case." 

Daniel shrugged, trying to sound like it didn't matter to him either way. "It's up to you if you want to come over or not." 

"If you're going to twist my arm about it, then sure." 

"You want to drop your groceries off first?" 

"Sounds like a plan. Oh, do you like westerns?" 

"Westerns?" Daniel blinked, confused by the apparent change of topic. 

"You know. John Wayne. James Garner. Trigger." 

"I haven't seen that many . . ." 

"Cool. I'll bring a couple of tapes with me. You do have a VCR, right?" 

"Yes." 

"Great. What about a microwave?" 

"One came with the apartment, but why . . ." 

"I'll bring the popcorn too." The grin on Jack's face banished the shadows. "I've already got the beer." 

"Oh. Okay. Then . . ." 

"I'll see you in a while." 

Daniel nodded. He went back to the cashier who'd already rung up his purchases and was filing her nails waiting for him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Jack's tall figure disappearing down an isle. 

In his kitchen, Daniel added a second chicken breast to the sizzling skillet. He stirred in the chopped vegetables and a dash of wine. The aroma filling the small room made his mouth water. He checked to make sure the table was set. Jack should be here any minute. 

The doorbell announced the arrival of his dinner companion. Daniel wiped his hands off on a towel and went to open the door. Jack staggered in, loaded down with several bags. 

"What's this? I thought you were bringing a tape and popcorn?" Daniel said as he rescued one of the bags from imminent danger. 

"I did. Beer, too." He followed Daniel into the dining room and set the bags down on the table. "I wasn't sure what you'd like to see, so I brought a few tapes. Oh, and some of these sourdough rolls from the bakery. I didn't think to ask if you'd ever tried them. They're great. And some ice cream for dessert. Chocolate Ripple." 

"You didn't have to." He said as he watched Jack unload the bags. 

"I know I didn't. I wanted to. It wouldn't be right to show up for dinner without contributing to the meal somehow." 

"Well, thanks. The rolls will go well with the chicken. I'll put the ice cream in the freezer." 

"Anything I can help you with?" 

"You want to make a salad?" 

"Sure. Let me at it." 

"I have to warn you. It doesn't come out of a box." 

"Rats. So much for showing off my cooking prowess." 

"The stuff's in the fridge." 

"Cool." 

The two men worked side by side in the kitchen, going about the process of preparing the meal. They talked of simple everyday things, the words themselves unimportant. Before long, they were seated in front of heaping plates. They shared the meal in comfortable silence. Afterwards they opened the beer and selected a tape. 

Daniel leaned back in his chair and munched on a fist full of popcorn as "Support Your Local Sheriff" played on the television. Jack's deep chuckle filled the dark room, the sound oddly relaxing. He found his eyelids drooping. Since his return, sleep had been a precious commodity. When he'd lie down, the heavy weight in his chest pulled at him, keeping him from resting. His mind chased itself in circles. Loss nagged him, making the few hours he managed to sleep far from peaceful. 

"That was fun," Daniel said, forcing his eyes opened after the tape played out. Jack hit rewind on the remote. "Thanks for bringing it over." 

"I'm rather fond of that one myself." He ejected the tape and replaced it in the box. "Thanks for dinner." 

"No problem. I was glad of the company." 

"Me too. Want some help washing up?" 

"That's okay. I'll rinse the plates off and stick them in the dishwasher." Daniel got up and stretched, then began collecting their bowls and cans. 

Jack gathered his tapes from the various places he'd scattered them earlier. "Guess I ought to head home. We've got an early morning briefing." 

"Yeah. I'm ready to turn in." He felt strangely free and knew that tonight he'd be able to sleep undisturbed. "Let me get the ice cream out of the freezer for you." 

"No, you keep it, and you can hang on to the rest of the beer too." 

"That's not. . . I mean I'm not much for . . ." 

"I'll help you finish it off the next time I'm over. That is if I'm invited over again." 

"Of course." Daniel looked at the other man in surprise. "You're always welcome here, Jack." 

"Didn't want to presume." Jack sent him a questioning look as he bagged his tapes. 

"Like I said, I was glad of the company." He realized with a start, he meant that. It wasn't a matter of politeness or the need to keep his team leader happy. In the field, he relied on Jack's expertise to get them home safely. On base, he sought his advice in dealing with the often contradictory rules of the military world he found himself living in. Here in his apartment, he was pleasantly surprised to find he simply enjoyed the company of the other man. 

"Cool." Jack's smile said he had taken pleasure in the evening too. Neither of them wanted to be alone. Maybe now they didn't have to be. "Well, I guess I'll get out of here and let you get some sleep." 

"Goodnight, Jack." 

"See you tomorrow, Daniel."


End file.
